


Jigen's Thanksgiving

by author203



Series: Jigen's Holidays [2]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: F/M, Longing, Romance, Thanksgiving, Yearning, author is in love with a figment of someone else's imagination, but they want it to happen, character driven, character driven is code for nothing happens, jigen is my favorite, mostly Jigen/mentions or cameos of other characters, nothing happens, smolder, they want it so bad, too many tags lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/author203/pseuds/author203
Summary: Jigen spends Thanksgiving with you.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Original Female Character(s), Jigen Daisuke/Reader, Jigen Daisuke/You
Series: Jigen's Holidays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020765
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Jigen's Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphireHero2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireHero2020/gifts).



> This one was sort of all over the place, and I had no idea where it was going, but I'm kind of pleased with how it turned out. 
> 
> Also, romance, sort of, but not really. Reader discretion advised. Nothing happens. But they want it to, and they talk about it.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Jigen's Thanksgiving**

She loved this time of year. The colors, the crisp air. Before winter came and washed everything in its bland gray, but after the brutal heat of summer. The best time of year by far.

The flowers he had left last time had only kept about a week, but the tiny pumpkins still sat in the center of her table and she thought of him whenever their bright orange color caught her eye.

It had been a few weeks, and even though she wanted badly to see him again, she thought it unlikely. But then again, it was hard to tell. There wasn't really any discernible pattern. Sometimes it was weeks or months between visits. One time he had been gone over a year and half and she had started to think he had forgotten her. But other times he had been there one week, and then back again the next.

She hated not knowing where he was or when or if he was ever coming back. He made it very hard to plan things.

Thanksgiving was coming, and she wanted to spend it with him. She couldn't afford to go home this year, and she had already turned down invites from friends. Why, she wasn't quite sure. She knew it wasn't right for her to put her life on hold, pass up on things, just on the off chance that he might deign to grace her with his presence.

But she did it anyway.

She'd have her own Thanksgiving this year. And if he was part of it, that would be wonderful. And if he wasn't, well, she would find a way to live with that too.

She went to the store to pick up a few odds and ends. A turkey breast, big enough for two, or one with a lot of leftovers. She wouldn't cook a whole bird this time. Some spices. The makings for a pie. It had been a while since she had baked anything. That would be fun. Some sweet potatoes, because tradition dictated. Some fresh coffee, even though she didn't drink it. She kept it around, just in case. Knew which brand, and which roast; knew how he took it. And absolutely under no circumstances any green bean casserole ingredients. She hated that and never understood while people insisted it was a top tier side dish when she wouldn't feed it to a dog.

She wondered if he had ever had a dog. Probably not, she decided. But she liked to picture him, holding a leash in one hand, and her hand in his other as they walked around her quiet neighborhood amid the changing leaves.

He was heavy on her mind lately. Ever since he had rescued her horrid Halloween. That had been a day, but she remembered it fondly now, mostly because she only thought of the parts where he had been there.

She thought about him all the time. She couldn't help it. And she wondered if he ever thought about her the same way.

She finished her shopping, drove home. Saw him sitting on her back steps, the afternoon sunlight shining on his thick black hair. She almost wrecked the car, trying to get out before it was in park, got tangled in her seat belt, but once she figured it out she was in his arms before he had even had a chance to say her name. He had barely had time to stand and come down the steps into the yard.

“You're here!”

He smiled, flicked the ash away from his cigarette. “You seem awfully glad to see me.” He ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair. She loved when he did that. “It's shorter.”

“A little. Do you like it?” she asked, hopeful. She hadn't cut it for him, obviously. And it really shouldn't have mattered if he liked it or not – it was her head – but somehow it did. She wanted to look nice for him. That in itself was odd. She usually didn't care what anyone thought. Not many people spent a lot of time looking at her, she reasoned, and she wasn't trying to impress anyone.

Anyone but him.

He nodded. “It suits you.”

He looked the same of course. He never changed. As unpredictable as he was, though she never knew when to expect him, he was always constant. A walking paradox, that man.

“You didn't let yourself in this time?”

“Didn't want to scare you. Didn't want to get maced.” He laughed.

“You.” She smiled. She couldn't help it. It was so good to see him. She was so glad he was here. “How long do I get to keep you this time?”

“Few days. If you'll have me. Thought we'd spend the holiday together.” It was a question. She loved how he somehow found a way to ask permission even after he had already invited himself.

“You're always welcome here.”

“I'd hoped so.”

Still in his arms, she leaned back to look in his face. He titled his hat up to give her a better view.

“I missed you,” she said as she took hold of his neck tie, and brought his mouth to meet hers.

“Whoa there,” he chuckled when she broke away. “You keep that up and I might not be able to stay here after all. I mean, can you be trusted with my virtue?”

She giggled a bit, blushing. She liked when he teased her. She liked that he was here. And she liked that she was in a better frame of mind this go around. She thought she wasn't likely to burst into tears this time. Work was better these days, but she was on vacation now and didn't have to think about it until after the holiday. She had even been promoted recently – it didn't come with a raise or a better office or a bigger chair or anything, just more responsibility and a meaningless title, but none of that mattered today.

“Well, if you are going to stay, make yourself useful and bring in the groceries.”

He laughed again, clutched his smoke between his teeth, spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Yes ma'am.”

“And no smoking in the house.”

“Yes ma'am”

“And wipe your feet.”

“Anything else?” He was grinning.

“Welcome home.”

She handed him a blanket.

“You know this couch is a lot more comfortable with you on it.”

She shook her head, tossed the pillow at him. “And you know why that's a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a pretty good one to me,” he said with a wolfish grin.

“I can't,” she replied seriously.

Gently, softly, he said, “I'd make it nice for you. You know that.”

She sighed. “And I want it. You don't know how much. But you know what it would take.”

He nodded, sorrowfully. “But can you blame me for trying?”

“I'm flattered that you keep trying.”

“Sleep well.”

“You too.”

“I'd sleep better with you beside me.”

“Not tonight.”

She went to her bedroom, closed the door. And thought about him. And what it might be like. She didn't know. Just what bits and pieces you pick up from television, trashy romance novels. She wanted to know. She really wanted to know. But couldn't. Wouldn't. She thought about him, and how he was only a few feet away – ready and willing and tempting and experienced, able to teach, able to show things she had only ever heard people whisper about. She thought about him for the rest of the night.

She must have fallen asleep at some point because she woke up to pans clattering and the smell of bacon.

She came into the kitchen. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” He was at the stove, and she came to put her arms around him, look over his shoulder. “Smells good.”

“Omelets. What do you want in yours?” He was wearing her apron again. The one with the ponies, and the sight of him made her want to laugh. She was so happy he was here. So thankful he had found his way into her life.

And she loved a man who knew his way around a kitchen. And he certainly did. They had the whole day before them, and she was going to take advantage of him being here.

“I think,” she said, as she finished her omelet. “That it's time to put up the tree.”

“Already? Isn't it too early for that?”

“No. It's never too early for Christmas. And since you're here, you get to help.”

“Oh joy,” he said as sarcastically as possible.

She just laughed at him.

Later that day, she had him rearrange the furniture to make space for the tree. She found her Christmas cds, and set them to playing softly in the background. Then she had him bring the boxes of decorations to the living room. He was on the floor trying to figure out which branch went into which hole, while she dug through the ornaments. He had already untangled the lights, a task that required just a bit more patience than he could muster at the moment. He had already gone out to smoke at least twice.

“If I knew you were going to work me this hard, I would have just stayed with Lupin.” He smiled as he said it. In truth he was glad to be anywhere other than with Lupin right now. Fujiko was back and he didn't want to be anywhere near them when they were playing house.

“How are your friends?”

“Fine.” He didn't want to talk about them. He finally got the branches right, and stood to lift the artificial tree onto its stand.

“I love Christmas,” she sighed. And it was true. She didn't care for winter as much – the dark and the cold – but Christmas did brighten her least favorite season.

“Christmas is just another cold day.”

“Oh no. No. Don't say that. It's so much more than that.”

“Really?”

“Spend it with me. I'll show you.”

He smiled a little half smile, but wouldn't say yes or no. Just a gruff, “I'd like that.”

They spent the next hour or so decorating her tree, and she told him where each ornament had come from, the story behind it, what it meant to her. He didn't have anything like that. He only kept practical things. His lighter. His hat. His guns. And the memories attached to those things were not usually pleasant ones.

He almost envied her. She was so innocent. In so many ways. Her belief that people were inherently good; that no one was beyond redemption. That most people were just doing the best they could to get by. Only someone like her would have given him – scoundrel that he was – a second glance, a chance. And he was thankful for that.

This thing they had was – sweet was the only word he could think of. He wanted it to be more, but knew she wouldn't. Or couldn't. Or something. She had tried to explain it, but he still didn't understand. He respected her and her decision and her determination and her sheer will power. But, he thought, perhaps a bit selfishly, it was probably easy to skip something you've never had, when you don't know what you're missing.

“So tomorrow's the day. Hope you like the menu,” she said as she reached up to put the angel on top of the tree.

“I'll eat anything you put in front of me. I'm not picky.”

She laughed a little. “Well I am. And we'll be having my favorites.”

“Sounds good to me.” He was on the couch, stretched out, hands behind his head, long legs crossed. “So what now?”

“Now, I think I will bake that pie.”

“Sounds good. Wake me when it's ready,” he said, pushing his hat over his face.

She huffed a bit. “Fine.” She went into the kitchen. She wanted to visit more, talk some, bake together. He'd be leaving soon, she was sure, and she wanted to spend whatever time he was here with him. But she also understood that his life was so different from hers. He probably slept whenever he got the chance; whenever he felt it was safe to do so.

He felt safe here and that was something.

She had made the dough earlier since it had to chill for so long, and she put it on the counter to warm up a bit while she searched for her glass pie plate. She had one of those metal crust saver things too, to keep the edges from burning while it baked.

She found the rolling pin, unwrapped the dough.

“What are you doing?” his voice close behind her.

She jumped a little, hadn't heard him come in the kitchen. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Couldn't. What's going on here?”

“Pie-baking. I told you.”

“Oh, and how's that done?” He was close, she felt his breath warm on her neck. Could smell his aftershave through the tobacco smell that lingered where ever he went.

“Here, I'll show you.”

He was behind her, looking over her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her waist.

“First, a little flour,” she said as she spread it out over a clean surface. She was trying very hard to concentrate on the task at hand and not on how his beard felt on her neck.

“And then?” He didn't even have to be saying anything romantic or important. Just his voice sent a shiver through her. He felt it of course, rested his chin on her shoulder.

“And then, you roll it out.” She had her hands on the rolling pin, trying to breathe, trying to think.

He stood up straight again, covered her hands with his own. “Like this?” he asked and went through a few motions, all of him pressed against all of her as they rolled out the dough.

“Yes. Just like that.” A tear fell and landed on his hand.

“Hey, hey, what's all this now?”

She turned around to face him. “You're trying to seduce me.” She tried to laugh, make it a joke, but it fell just a little flat.

He tried to help it along with a chuckle. Said lightly, “Oh, no more than usual.”

She stared at him, blinked a few times. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. She knew if he kissed her now, she would be lost.

He may have known that too.

He sighed. “Sorry. Didn't think it would upset you this much.” He paused. “I just want so badly to be your first.”

“That's the whole problem.”

“I don't understand,” he said, as he moved his hands from her shoulders to her elbows and back again.

“I want you to be my only.”

They were on opposite sides of a chasm that widened and deepened each time they were together.

“I know,” he shook his head, looked defeated. “I'll let you finish.” He turned and went out the back door. She saw him pull a cigarette from a pocket, but he didn't light it until he was outside. She could see him on the back steps from the window over the sink and she just braced her hands on the counter and stood there watching him, wanting him, knowing it couldn't be, knowing why, and somehow being both proud and hating herself for her decision. She felt like a walking contradiction most days.

It didn't make sense to her that doing the right thing should be this hard.

She dried her eyes, finished making the pie. He didn't come back in until it was almost finished baking.

“I'm sorry,” he said as he closed the back door.

“Me too.”

“Don't be.” He looked at her. His gaze was heavy on her. She felt its entire weight. He changed the subject. Tried to put the incident behind them. “Smells good. What flavor?”

She smiled, glad to have something else to think about. “Cherry.”

“Hmm. Not apple or sweet potato or pumpkin?”

“Nope. Cherry. I don't like apples.”

“Oh, that's right.” He said it like he was just remembering, but really he hadn't known.

“And we'll be having sweet potatoes tomorrow.”

“Hmm.”

“And pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving is just cliché.”

He laughed at that. It was so good to hear him laugh.

She crossed the kitchen, hugged him close, just stood there a while with her arms around him. He hugged her too, rubbed her back with one hand.

“What are we doing?” she whispered brokenly.

“What do you mean?”

“It gets harder every time. I love you. I want you. I just love you so much.”

He didn't say anything for a minute or two. If he was completely honest, he'd say it back. Because it was true. Had been for a while. But he couldn't bring himself to make it any harder than it already was. For her. For both of them.

Instead, he kissed her forehead, said, “Let's not try so hard to figure it out right now. Let's just let it be whatever it is.”

She tried to smile, said, “Ok.”

“I can go... If you want?”

“No!” She squeezed him tighter. “No. Please stay. It's not you... It's complicated. But please, please stay.” After a minute she added, “If you want.”

“More than anything.” He kissed her, gently, reservedly, just enough, and broke it off before it could go too far. “So how long before we can eat that pie?”

She laughed at him, said, “Soon. Let it cool down a little first.”

Later, after he had cooked their supper, and they had sat at the table still adorned with the tiny pumpkins he had brought last time he was there, they sat on the couch together. He was flipping through the channels, and she was holding a book, but not really reading it. His arm around her because she had pulled it there.

After a while, he laid down, put his head in her lap, and she absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. It was almost past his shoulders now, longer than she had ever seen it. She took the remote from him, since he couldn't make a decision, and flipped through the channels until she found good old Charlie Brown.

“What's this?”

“You've seen this. Charlie Brown Christmas is classic.”

“No. I've seen him in the newspaper, but never seen this.”

“You've never seen this?” It was hard to believe. A man like him, who had traveled the world, and seen almost everything.

“No.”

“Well, we're watching it now.”

“Yes ma'am.”

She laughed. “You.”

She kept playing with his hair, which was soft and clean, while on the screen Chuck complained about how Christmas had gotten too commercial lately.

She loved watching him watch it, enjoyed seeing his reactions, liked hearing his commentary. “That kid puts up with a lot” or “That Lucy is a jerk” - he didn't say jerk, he said something else - or “Look at that twig!”

“It just needs a little love.”

“A whole lot if you ask me.”

She laughed again. This was perfect. Quiet and restful and comfortable. He fell asleep there, and she sat with his head in her lap for a long time. Just thinking about him and what he meant to her; how thankful she was that he was here.

She left him there, went to her bedroom, closed the door. She was ashamed that she thought about locking it. He would never hurt her. Would do anything to protect her. She was just still a little rattled from earlier.

Several hours later she woke up crying, rough hands on her shoulders, his voice loud in her ears. He was saying her name over and over. He sounded worried. “What? What is it?” he demanded.

She opened her eyes, saw his face in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. He was hatless, shirtless, in his pajama pants. The ones from the set she had bought for him. The ones he kept here, just in case.

“A dream,” she cried. “A nightmare.” She clung to him, shaking. He sat on the edge of the bed, and just held her.

“It's ok. It was just a dream. It's over now.”

“It was horrible. You were – I couldn't save you. Blood. Everywhere. Horrible. Just horrible.”

He rocked her back and forth a bit, stroked her hair, rubbed her back. “Shush, shush now. I'm here. I'm whole. It was just a dream.”

She couldn't stop crying. She hated that she cried all the time. At least it seemed like all the time. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Not yet.” He'd meant it as a joke. He had wanted to see her smile again, but she just cried harder and held him tighter. He was glad he was here. In this moment. That he could be here for her.

She was glad he was here too. She had had bad dreams before – they were rare, but came once in a while – but she always had to face them alone.

“I was scared too,” he admitted after a while, after she had cried herself out, and calmed down a bit.

“Why? You were?”

“I heard you scream. Thought something had happened. It was -”

“Terrifying?”

“Yeah. That's a good word for it.”

“What time is it?”

He moved his arm from around her, lifted it slightly so he could see his watch above her head. “Sun will be up soon.”

“I am _not_ going back to sleep.” She shuddered. “Not after that.”

“I'll make some coffee.”

“I don't -”

“And some tea,” he cut her off. He might not have known about the apples, but he for sure remembered about the coffee. “Are you ok now?”

She sniffled a bit, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes. I'll be ok.”

“Good. I'll um... I'll make us some breakfast.”

“Thanks.”

He had a shirt on the next time she saw him, and as they ate, she kept her hand on the table, and he kept his over it, caressing her knuckles with a calloused thumb.

Afterward, she made them sit on the front steps, a blanket around their shoulders, matching unicorn mugs warming their hands. It was still dark, but wouldn't be for much longer. There was frost on the ground, and it glittered in the light falling from the windows behind them.

“Freezing out here,” he complained. He hated being cold.

“Come a little closer. I'll keep you warm.”

He went to do that, hesitated just a moment. “You sure?”

She nodded. He pulled her close against his side, and she tugged the blanket snugly around them, rested her head on his shoulder. “I missed you.”

“I miss you too, when I'm not around.”

“I never once asked you to leave.”

“I know. Quite the opposite. It's just -”

His pocket buzzed. He frowned, pulled out his phone, grimaced at it before clicking the green answer symbol.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what time it is here?”

“No.”

“No. I told you. It's Thanksgiving.”

She could only hear his side of it. But she could tell from his tone that he wasn't happy at having been interrupted.

“Lupin – Lupin – will you shut up for two seconds?”

“Why can't it wait a day?”

“What does Fujiko have to do with it?”

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“No, I told you -”

“Yeah. She's right here. We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“Not like that. For a 'gentleman thief' your mind is always in the gutter.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“No, I don't think your thing is more important.”

He was quiet for a time, listening, being berated or persuaded, she wasn't sure. She felt him stiffen a bit as the conversation progressed. She knew he was going to leave her. She knew he was going back to them without any hesitation. It was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time, but this somehow felt different. Before, he had come and gone on his own whims. She had never heard him being called away like this; never witnessed a one-sided conversation like the one playing out in front of her.

“Fine.”

“No. It's not ok. But I'll do it anyway.”

“Double.”

“I'll get there when I get there.”

“Don't rush me or I won't come at all.”

“No, just some things to wrap up here.”

“I won't be long.” That sentence about broke her heart. Funny how she could see it coming, know it was about to happen, and still be caught off guard with how it made her feel.

“You've got some nerve, you know that?”

“No, don't worry. I'll remember. For sure I'll remember the next time you and Fujiko want some privacy.”

“Yeah, well turnabout _is_ fair play.”

“Really? Well, same to you.”

“No. No. I'll be there. I'll catch the red eye.”

“That's the best I can do.”

“Send it to me.”

“You're interrupting my holiday.”

“No, I already said I'll be there.”

“I'm hanging up now.”

“Tough, boss. I'm done talking to you.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah.” Then softer, “You too, I guess.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah. I'll see you soon.”

He hung up, sighed, took a sip from his mug. “I'm sorry,” he said, sounding subdued.

“It's ok,” she lied.

“I'm not leaving until I'm good and ready. So, let's get that bird in the oven?”

“Soon. Let's just sit here a while first.” The sun had come up while he was on the phone. They had missed it, but he sat there in the cold a little longer to make her happy. “Where are you going?”

“Dublin.”

“I've never been there.”

“It's about the same as anywhere else, I guess.”

“I like their accents.” She couldn't think of anything else to say about it.

“I like yours.”

They were quiet for a while. She liked just sitting quietly with him.

“I'll need to shave and all before I go.” An odd thing to say. Just words to fill the silence, she figured.

“Sure. Want me to cut your hair?” It was getting a bit on the unmanageable side. He needed it for sure.

“Not too much.” He looked a little worried.

“It'll grow back,” she laughed. She didn't tell him she had never cut anyone's hair before.

He laughed too, pecked her cheek. “If you think you can manage.”

“How hard can it be?”

They spent the next while in the kitchen – nice and warm in here he said a few times – cooking their feast. She tried very hard to stay in the moment, and not think of how he was leaving soon, and how empty she felt when his absence was fresh, and she tried especially hard to not think of the dream that had woken her with such violent force this morning.

The turkey breast, safely in the oven, simmered in its juices and filled the kitchen with that wonderful smell that reminded her of every Thanksgiving she had ever had. While it cooked, she had him sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs, a towel around his shoulders. She combed his hair out, enjoying the feel of it. Such a terribly intimate thing, grooming another.

“Easy,” he said, when she found a knot. “Take it easy.”

“Sorry.” She started cutting.

“Not too much now.”

“You worry too much.” If he was leaving soon, she was going to have a bit of fun with him first. “Oops!”

He froze. “What do you mean 'oops'?”

She laughed out loud. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just messing with you.”

“Oh is that all?” He sounded relieved. “Two can play at that game.” He twisted around, grabbed her hand, pulled her into his lap. They stayed that way for some time, until the oven timer rudely interrupted them.

She checked on the food, then finished what she had started. When she was done, he went to the bathroom to check himself in the mirrors. “Not bad,” he called through the house.

“Glad you think so,” she yelled back from the kitchen.

He had to admit that he looked fairly decent. At least better than he had anyway. He took a quick shower, shaved, and emerged in his suit pants and dress shirt. The first couple buttons were undone, and he hadn't put on his tie or hat or suit coat yet, so she figured he still planned to hang around for at least a little while longer.

He had reached the kitchen just as she was pulling the turkey from the oven.

“Ready?”

“Almost. Just waiting on the rolls and have to brown these marshmallows.”

“Nice.”

“You can be a dear and set the table.”

He smiled looking at her. “Yes ma'am.” He would miss having her tell him what to do with himself. Like he wasn't grown. He was a hard man who had lived a hard life, but just the thought of her softened him around the edges a bit. Well, most of him.

He pushed that thought away, set out the plates, thought about how he would leave. He had done it both ways before. Left in the dark of night while she was sleeping, and left in broad daylight with desperate, clinging goodbye kisses and tears.

He preferred the former, obviously. But he thought maybe she deserved the latter. Well, he'd decide when the time came. Right now, it was time to eat.

He had to admit she set a nice table. He had never left here hungry. He loved the way she took care of him. Keeping his favorite toothpaste, his favorite coffee, even a travel size bottle of his aftershave. Anything he might need, or might have forgotten to bring with him.

He wanted to do the same. Take care of her. But she didn't really need taking care of. She was plenty capable. And of course his life made it impossible. He had gone too far down this road and there was no turning back. He had regrets for sure, but he was usually able to keep them at bay by focusing on the here and now. More likely to stay alive that way to.

After he set the table, he dug around in the fridge.

“What are you looking for? We are about to eat.”

“I brought a bottle.”

“I don't -”

“It's non-alcoholic.”

“You remember.” He had remembered. And she loved that about him. She found the wine glasses that she never used, they had been a gift from someone a long time ago, she couldn't remember who, and put them on the table.

Once they were seated, glasses filled, plates heaping, he said, a little awkwardly, “Hey, thanks for the -” he touched his hair. “You know.” It was up around his ears now, and looked much better in her opinion.

His head felt lighter. If that made any kind of sense. An illusion probably, he figured.

“Sure. You like it?”

That made him grin. “Even if I didn't, like you said, it'll grow back.”

She laughed, but her heart was aching. He'd be gone soon again – it seemed he was always leaving her – and who knew if she'd ever see him again. “What are you thankful for?”

He froze, fork half way to his lips, looked at her. She had put him on the spot and immediately regretted it, but she couldn't take it back now.

A moment passed, and she waited, trying very hard to be patient, but eager to hear what he would say. She expected him to say something frivolous, like your gravy or this casserole, but instead he said, “You, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I suppose there are a few other things.” He grinned, said, “My hat, I guess.”

“I'm thankful for that too. Looks good on you.” She giggled a bit, tried to keep it light.

“You make good gravy.” He was grasping for things to say. Wanted to keep the conversation going.

“My aunt's recipe.”

“A good one.”

They were quiet for a while, but their silences were usually companionable, not awkward like they might have been.

“How much longer?” she wanted to know. She didn't really. But she did. She felt like she could savor their time together better if she knew how much there was left. Was it going to be hours or just a few minutes?

“Later. I have time. Let's just enjoy right now.”

“Ok.”

When they had finished eating, she put away the leftovers, while he cleaned the kitchen. The dishwasher was loaded and humming when they settled again on the couch.

He picked a movie. A western. An old one they had both seen multiple times. It was just background noise for them as they each sat with their thoughts.

She was curled against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around her, their usual pleasant posture. It was getting late, but he still just sat there with her, staring at the screen, running his hand lazily up and down her arm once in a while. She felt warm and safe under the blanket, and breathed in his scent, knowing she would miss it once he was gone.

Why don't they make a men's aftershave scented candle, she wondered as she closed her eyes.

She was asleep. She always fell asleep next to him. Well, that solved that problem. He checked his watch. Another hour, hour and a half maybe, and then he would really have to go.

He let her sleep. Liked the feel of her against him. Watched the end of the movie, before turning off the tv.

“Come on, darling. I'll put you to bed.”

“Finally,” she answered, drowsily.

He chuckled deep in his throat, lifted her easily. “No. Not like that.” She was still asleep. She'd be bright red if she hadn't been, he knew for sure.

“Oh. Ok,” she murmured, sounding disappointed.

He carried her to her bedroom, laid her down, just stood there staring at her for a while. He kissed her forehead, whispered something sweet she wouldn't remember, saw her smile, turned off the bed side lamp, and left.

He closed her bedroom door, went through the house to gather his things – his hat, his tie, its clip – checked that things were locked up, made sure the oven was off. He dug in the fridge, wrapped a couple slices of the pie in tin foil for the road. He took the trash on his way out, and sighed as he closed the door behind him.

This place was a refuge. An oasis. He would miss it.

He walked a ways in the cold, shoes crunching the frost. Called a cab, headed for the airport, and was gone.

She had slept late; the sun had been up for a while. She had slept well. No terrible dreams this time. She knew he was gone. The house was quiet and still. No smells from the kitchen, no cooking noises, no hoarse singing because he thought she was still asleep and couldn't hear.

She already missed him.

She found the blanket he had left on the couch neatly folded. The pillow on top. He had put the dvd back in its case, back in its place on the shelf. She had quite the collection of westerns and action flicks. Whenever she saw something she thought he would like, she got it and kept it and waited and hoped for the time they could watch it together.

He had even taken out the trash.

She found some bills on the table, tucked under one of the pumpkins, a habit he had gotten into.

For room and board, he had said that first time she had tried to refuse. He never gave it to her now, just left it where she would be sure to find it. She always put it aside, used it purchase things for him, like the movies and pajamas and toiletries and such.

Amazing how she had gone from being afraid to talk to him, to letting him sleep on her couch.

He had left a note with the money. All it said was: _a tip for the hairdresser_. No _Happy Thanksgiving_. No _I love you_. No _I'll be back soon_. Or _I'll miss you_. No anything.

Not that she had expected anything. It wasn't his way. But it would have been nice.

She went to sit in the living room. Stared at her tree for a while. Thought about him, and how nice it was to have had him here to help put it together. Her mind stayed on him, and how he was always with her, even when he wasn't around.

She turned her mind to Christmas and the hope that lay there. There was plenty to do to get ready. Plenty to keep her busy.

Maybe he'd come back then. She should get him something just in case. A new hat maybe? She'd think about it.

She went to the kitchen, looked in the fridge. Pie wasn't exactly the breakfast of champions, but she was on vacation and there was no one here to stop her. And it had fruit in it, so that had to count for something. 

She found only a sliver left, and blurted, a little frustrated, “Dang it, Daisuke.”

A thousand miles away, standing in line for his connecting flight, he sneezed and smiled. She was thinking of him. Just as he had been thinking of her.

She had invited him for Christmas.

Maybe.

Maybe he could do Christmas this year. He'd have to see what Lupin had planned, but he figured Lupin sort of owed him after interrupting Thanksgiving the way he had.

This job had better be worth it, was all he could think as the plane took off. He settled back, pushed his hat over his face, tried to sleep.

With any luck at all, he'd dream of her. And that would be just fine with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this after getting a request for a Thanksgiving fic. Thanks for the suggestion/inspiration! 
> 
> Also, minor note, there was this thing (I think in Part 3) where the characters would sneeze whenever someone not around said their name, so that's where that idea came from. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.


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